“But I’m still in mourning for my dead husband,” she protested. “My father has no right to intrude upon my privacy in this unseemly fashion. Suppose I were to refuse?”
Unmoved, the captain said, “I’ve been instructed to tell you that should you refuse King Henry’s summons he has ordered me to remove you by force.” He paused. “But I’m sure the situation won’t come to that, Madam.”
Maud was aghast. Remove her by force? Her head began to throb as she fought to maintain her dignity before her father’s minion. But inside she was filled with a helpless rage. It made no difference to the King that her heart lay in Germany, or that if she left she must forfeit all the wealth and property that the Emperor had bestowed on her. The image of herself being trussed up like a goose for market and stuffed into a litter was even worse than the knowledge that she would now be wholly dependent upon her father. As in all her past dealings with King Henry there seemed to be no choice but to obey. By evening her head ached so badly that she could not sleep and had to be dosed with white poppy.
“However you may feel at the moment, this might be the best thing that could happen,” said Aldyth the next day, pleased to be returning to her native land. She gave Maud a sly glance as she packed boxes and stuffed saddlebags. “Certainly you’ve come up out of the doldrums, quick enough!”
Maud glared at her because what Aldyth said was true. Her sense of grief and loss had given way to anger and a resurgence of life as she imagined ways to get back at her father.
In mid-August, accompanied by her father’s escort, women attendants, grooms, servants, as well as all her personal possessions, Maud left her adopted country. Surrounded by two score knights and archers, she felt more like a prisoner than a daughter returning to the bosom of her family. As her procession traveled through Germany, people came out in droves to express their affinity and mourn her departure. They would never forget her, they cried, their good and virtuous little empress. Maud was moved to tears. Her bitterness against her father increased.
The journey across Europe took a month. In early September they crossed the Norman border, stopped at an inn with a nearby church in time for Vespers, and started up again when the bells rang for Matins. With any luck they would reach Rouen before the following night, the captain of the escort told Maud. She then fell asleep to the rocking motion of the litter.
Slowly Maud opened her eyes. For some time now she had been trying to ignore the sounds of hammering, carts being unloaded, and horses stamping their hooves against the earth. How could they have arrived in Rouen so quickly? she wondered. Yawning, Maud stretched her arms, arched her spine like a cat, then opened the leather curtains, curious to see Normandy’s capital. She gazed out upon a pink September dawn, just visible through a fragile curtain of mist, unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.
The procession of carts, litters, and sumpter horses was scattered over a wild overgrown meadow bordered on one side by an apple orchard. A warm wind swept through the fruit-laden boughs, carpeting the meadow floor with a profusion of apples, some red as blood, others a soft rose color.
As the captain of the escort rode by on a chestnut stallion, she hailed him: “Why have we stopped to set up camp? Surely this cannot be Rouen.”
“No, Madam. While you slept a herald met us on the road, turned the procession aside and led us to this village—St. Clair. Your pavilion has just been erected and the women are already unloading your belongings.”
A short distance away, surrounded by carts and pack horses, Maud saw a familiar green tent. Two servitors lifted wooden boxes and roped bundles from the carts and carried them into the tent, followed by two others who staggered under the weight of a wooden tub of water. Through the open door of the pavilion, Maud could hear the voices of Aldyth and her German women.
“The King is here?” she asked, incredulous.
“Across the river, Madam,” the captain told her.
Maud slowly descended from the litter. Yes, there was the King’s camp, a huge cluster of pavilions backed by a squat stone church and a cluster of thatch-roofed huts. Despite the morning’s warmth she shivered.
“If you will excuse me, Madam, I have much to attend to,” said the captain. He bowed his head and rode off.
She had been expecting a ceremonial entry into Rouen; instead she found herself in the midst of a wilderness. Simply one more humiliation to add to the others she had endured. Bitterness twisted like an adder inside her.
Two grooms passed by leading four horses to the river. One of them gave her a friendly smile. “Welcome to Normandy, Madam,” he said in Norman French.